The Valley So Low
by JWood201
Summary: For the past two weeks, Ian Troi has lived in a world of moments. Images and sounds that somehow link across the empty space to form a coherent recollection. Time as he knew it ceased to exist one hot afternoon, slipping beneath the silvery surface of Lake El-Nar and dissipating in its warm depths.


_Episode references: "Haven," "A Fistful of Datas," "Dark Page," and the episode of DS9 where Lwaxana talks about her family members who have passed._

 _Down in the valley, valley so low.  
_ _Hang your head over. Hear the wind blow.  
_ _Roses love sunshine. Violets love dew.  
_ _Angels in heaven know I love you._

 **The Valley So Low**

The dog barks. The baby cries.

The girl pleads with him, whining at an emotional pitch that he'll never hear. She can't control it yet. His wife presses a palm to her forehead. The baby shrieks and she winces.

The feeling of plunging his hand into the empty bag, searching. The sudden image of the forgotten teething ring on the table at home. His wife's exasperation surging into his consciousness when she sees what he remembers.

The faint jingling of the dog's tags in the distance. Musical giggles as the girl chases him.

A bark. A yelp. A splash.

A moment of absolute silence and stillness.

Then, Lwaxana Troi's scream.

Psionic waves shoot across the landscape, shaking the leaves in the trees. The muktok plants ring violently.

The wind in his hair as he whirls. Uttaberries smashed against the picnic blanket.

The dog barks, runs frantically in the shallows.

Tiny fingers reach for the sun before slipping beneath the crystal-clear surface.

The baby, red-faced and screaming. His wife gasps, clutches her chest as if her lungs are filling with water.

The ground pounding beneath his feet. The lake pulling at his clothes as he dives.

The muffled silence.

A thin wrist in his fist. Thick wavy brown hair, floating, like a halo. Big black eyes.

Kestra Troi is laid to rest with her grandmother and her aunt. Three daughters of the Fifth House. Too many to lose for one of the most powerful and sensitive telepaths, who loves more freely and feels more deeply than any being in the universe.

The service is silent, except for the translator there solely for his benefit. The Starfleet representative is uncomfortable. His father-in-law is a statue. Steven and Victoria Miller are an oasis. Their son and his daughter watch each other suspiciously across the crowd.

Lwaxana falls apart and he feels it so deeply in his soul that it literally knocks him off his feet. She shakes in his arms. She begs him, foreheads pressed together, to let her forgot. _Please_.

She clings to Deanna with the desperation of having newfound knowledge that it's possible to lose a child.

She meditates. Mr. Xelo packs boxes. The dog curls up under the dining table. All silent.

But Ian sings to the baby. _Down in the valley._

Toys, artwork, a purple hairbrush. Boxes disappear from the house. Pictures disappear from the walls. Clothes disappear from the drawers, the drawers from the furniture, the furniture from the room.

He never sees anything leave, but he's been on this planet long enough to feel them go.

He manages to save a few things. A well-loved doll with red Betazoid jewels in her hair. A picture of himself with his girls, which he'll leave safely with Mr. Xelo when he goes away. A colorful drawing of his family, whole, which he'll tape to the side of his station on the _USS Carthage_ , a breach of protocol that his commanding officer will pretend not to notice. In seven years, Elias Vaughn will bring it back to Betazed with his body.

He's not sure if the nightmares are his or hers. Darkness. Water. Wolves.

Lwaxana meditates. Ian tries to meditate.

The carpet beneath him. The dog lying beside him. The stillness. The silence. His mental shields slide down easily, just the way she taught him.

A word appears in his mind before he can project anything of his own.

Her voice.

 _Imzadi._

Broken. But better than yesterday. Unburdened, somehow. He knows what she's doing and he doesn't agree, but he's not a telepath and he can't imagine how empty she feels. Mind, body, and soul.

Hot sun on his face. The dog's tags jingling beside him. Nails clicking on the pavement. An investigative sniff of a flower along the path.

Lwaxana hasn't asked him to do this. She would never. But Ian knows that he's the last reminder. Knows that she blames him, even though she loves him.

Steven Miller's frown as he opens the door. His infant son with the Ancient West name in Victoria's arms. The only humans he trusts enough.

The ground beneath his knee. Velvet ears sliding through his fingers. Wet tongue on his nose.

"Stay."

His dog, well-behaved on the transport from Earth. Lwaxana complaining that she couldn't read his Terran canine mind before smiling and plunging her hands into his fur, wrapping him in her arms. Licking blobs of baby food off the floor that Deanna dropped just for him. His head in Lwaxana's lap as she entertains the disapproving – and highly allergic – Daughter of the Second House. Sleeping at the foot of Kestra's bed every night to protect her.

" _Stay_."

The dog whines, but obeys. The baby gurgles happily, reaching fat fingers toward the soft fur.

A boy named Wyatt should have a dog named Durango.

At home, they don't speak, but she knows.

Lwaxana meditates. Ian sings to the baby.

When he finally returns to work, he kisses his wife and his daughter goodbye and they watch him go from the doorway.

When he returns, they're just where he left them, smiling brightly at him from the threshold.

His family. His wife, his daughter, and his dog.


End file.
